The Pretty and Reckless
by walkerawr
Summary: It is five or so years after the war has ended. Hermione Granger is up for promotion when Draco Malfoy swoops in and takes it from right under her nose. With headaches, hardships, and some hard drinking - these two somehow develop a relationship.
1. My Medicine

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, the setting, or anything to do with Harry Potter. I am only using the wonderful world and characters she created in order to hopelessly write something that should have happened but never did.

A/N: I have not written anything in a long time, not for fan fiction. So I may be a bit rusty and it might not be perfect. But, hey, no one's perfect right? My chapters tend to be rather long and the story might seem slow going, but I enjoy building characters and how they feel – so give it a chance!

**My Medicine**

_Somebody mixed my medicine_

_I don't know what I'm on._

The headaches had started a month or two after finishing school. Hermione wasn't quite sure what had caused them. Neither Muggle doctors nor Healers could tell her what was wrong. She didn't have any type of tumor and there was no magical ailment that had somehow fallen upon her. They couldn't tell her what was wrong, but she didn't need their opinion to know what was wrong. Stress. Stress had been a constant cloud over Hermione Granger since that first Halloween at Hogwarts with the troll. It was almost as if everything was designed to bring stress and sorrow down onto her shoulders. She had gone through so much, and while she was genuinely a selfless human being, Hermione wasn't quite sure how much more she could take.

With a sigh, Hermione looked at herself in the mirror. Her brown hair was pulled up into a very untidy bun. Wisps hung in her tired black circled eyes. She didn't recognize herself anymore. She opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and grabbed a prescription bottle with her name on it. Uncapping it, she shook out a few of the white pills into her hand and then popped them in her mouth. They went down easily, and she was acutely aware of how much more often she had been taking them. They weren't working as well as they used to. She must have built up some sort of tolerance to them. She set the bottle back in the medicine cabinet and closed the mirror again.

She gripped the edges of the sink and lowered her head, trying to keep her head from exploding into fireworks again. Her eyes drifted to her arm where the glistening scars of the word ″Mudblood″ shone like a beacon – reminding her of everything that had gone on in her years at Hogwarts. With another sigh and a shift of her jaw, Hermione tugged the creamed color sleeve of her sweater over her arm and turned to leave her bathroom. She walked back into her bedroom and looked around at the scattered disorganized chaos that was more and more Hermione Granger these days. She passed a hand over her face and kicked aside a pair of heels before making her way out of her bedroom and into the living room of her flat.

After the war had ended and Voldemort had been defeated, Hermione became something less than herself. Harry and Ron had thought everything would be dandy. And while it had taken a few years for the world to recover as a whole, there were a few fractured people who didn't recover at all. Hermione was one of those fractured people. She was good at wearing a mask of being okay, good at not letting people see she was actually bothered. Even now, as she sank further and further into a state of depression, neither of her best friends seemed to realize that anything was remotely wrong with her. She knew she couldn't blame them, they were males after all – and really, throughout their entire friendship, neither of them had been too aware of her emotions.

Hermione had always been the type of person to keep everything under control, because she hated the feeling of everything whirling out of control. Being friends with Harry Potter hadn't made that entirely possible. She had thought she would adapt to it, but as the years grew more and more dangerous the harder it became for Hermione to adapt. Maybe that's why the headaches hit her so suddenly after everything was over. Suddenly, everything just spun out of control for her. The only reason she was still going on was because she had to keep up this pretense of being all right. Not that it was really all that necessary; neither Harry nor Ron would pull their heads from their asses long enough to really notice.

Even with the painkiller in her system, Hermione felt a headache taking over her. She sunk onto her couch and laid down, her arms covering her eyes to block out what little light was filtering through dark maroon curtains. Her apartment was almost always shroud in darkness. It was the only reprieve she got from the bursting daylight she had to put up with at work. As time waned on, Hermione was aware that she needed to get to work. Her headache slowly dulled to a small roar and she was able to swing her legs over the side of the couch and stand. Just at that particular moment, there was a flicker of green flames in her Floo grate. She let out an audible groan, pulled her coat on over her shoulders, and looked at Harry as he stepped out and dusted off his jacket; ″'Lo,″ he greeted cheerily.

″Hey,″ she answered with a tight lipped smile as she turned to grab her purse. Harry didn't seem to notice.

″Ready, then?″

″Yes, nearly,″ she grabbed her sunglasses, perched them on her nose, ″Let's go.″

He stepped into the grate again and vanished. Hermione took a deep breath and eyed the fireplace. Apparating would be quicker, but the crack that it made was like an axe to her skull. Floo wasn't too much better, what with the whirling fireplaces flying passed her, but at least it didn't make much noise. Besides, Hermione had memorized how long it took to get from her grate to the Ministry's. With a deep breath, Hermione stepped into her fireplace and vanished seconds later.

When she stepped out into the Ministry, there was a lot of noise that reached her ears. She quickly made her way over to the lifts and tried to block out any conversations. She merely smiled when people greeted her and made her way to the Department of International Magical Cooperation. The one bright glimmer in her day was that she was up for a promotion. She had worked in the Department for five years, slowly proving herself to be an exemplary employee, even with the cloud of headaches hovering over her.

At this reminder, Hermione's lips twisted into an actual smile as the lift reached her floor and slid open. She stepped out, took off her sunglasses and let her eyes grow accustomed to the lighting. As she walked down the hall to her office, she felt excitement. There was no one else who could possibly get this promotion. This was her's. She had earned this. Like always, Hermione had worked her hardest for this job. People often got promoted because people knew them, or because they had connections. Not Hermione. Hermione had thrown her all into this job. No one was going to take this from her.

″Granger! Meet me in my office, please?″ The voice of her supervisor jarred her from her thoughts and caught her in midstep. She smiled and turned at the last moment to head inside the office that might someday be hers, hopefully someday was soon.

When she entered, she paused, her mouth dropped slightly and she quickly snapped it shut.

Draco Malfoy sat leisurely in one of the chairs across from the oak desk of her supervisor. He wore a completely black suit, his hair fixed tidily yet a bit untidy at the same time. He sat with his fingertips pressed together, his elbows resting on the armrests of the chair, his right ankle balanced on his left knee. He looked so...at home, and as far as Hermione knew (and she knew everything), Malfoy had never worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation a day in his life.

″Ah! Hermione! Please, take a seat!″ Hermione sank into her seat slowly, still a bit dumbfounded at the presence of her classmate. Hadn't he been sent to Azkaban for participating in the war? Or had they given him leniency for ″beaten woman″ syndrome? Did they have that in the magical world? Hermione made a note to research it when she had free time.

If she ever had free time.

Draco had applied for the position months ago, but had been basically wait-listed. ″The position is not available at this time,″ they told him. Draco had had it on good authority, however, that the Head would be retiring sometime soon. Draco had very little experience in this department, but that didn't make him any less qualified for the job. He had confidence that he wouldn't be dismissed simply because of his inexperience. His name might not have meant much anymore, but he had more than his name to get him places in the world.

After the war had ended, Draco hadn't been charged with any crimes from it. They had said he had been under the strong influence of his father, and that was true. His parents were sent away (and although he would never admit to it, he did miss his mother), but he had been free to live his life like any other wizard. That didn't mean much, though. No one really wanted to hire a Malfoy. Even the Three Broomsticks had turned him away; and that had taken a lot of pride swallowing to apply for. When he had decided to apply for the job of the Head of Department of International Magical Cooperation, he had thought it might just be a pipe dream. And then, about a week ago, he had been owled. He hadn't questioned it, just saw it as a blessing from whatever power that ruled the universe or whatever.

And now he sat in the Head's office, soon to be his office, completely smug and a little apprehensive. When Granger appeared, he let the familiar smirk cross his face, though didn't turn to look at her. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction of it. He hadn't known going in that he would be working with (or rather, working over) Granger, but that small fact only made it much more pleasing. This job was looking better and better by the minute.

She sank into the chair next to him, still obviously in shock but trying to mask it from him. He was certain that she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was confused. It was a precious feeling and Draco would cherish it for quite awhile.

″Now that we're all here, there are a few things to address,″ he sifted through his papers on his desk before collapsing into his cushioned chair without much grace. Draco stayed reclined back in his less comfortable chair and kept his fingertips pressed together, his lips rested against them in a way that made him look pensive and was hiding the smug grin that was slowly crawling across his face.

″Hermione, you've been one of my better employees. Always on time, always the last to leave. You achieve far past the requirements for the job you are in. You're always enthusiastic and willing to take the lead in projects. You have people skills that seem to come naturally to you. You are an irreplaceable employee. I have come to the decision that it's time for you to move up in the department.″

Draco could feel the pride radiating off Granger and he couldn't wait until it was smashed into bits when she found out he was getting the Head job and she was being promoted to his assistant. It was better than the cubicle job she was working in now, but he doubted she would see it that way. Granger strove for perfection and when she didn't reach it, it turned her world upside down. Draco didn't know Granger all that well, but he knew her well enough to know she probably didn't lose her know-it-all status after school. That just wasn't something you merely lost through maturing. Just like Draco hadn't lost his desire to be better than everyone else through maturing either.

He sneaked a quick glance at her, taking in her general appearance. She looked tired, older than she had when he had last seen her some few years ago. Her hair was messy, a lot messier than he figured Granger could allow it to be. Her eyes were lined with dark circles, her skin a little bit sallow. She still somehow managed to look decent...at least, somewhat fuckable. He wouldn't deny it, throughout the years they knew each other at Hogwarts, Granger had become hot. Would he ever act on it? Hell no. She was a mudblood, pure and simple. He would never touch that. Not even if she were the best shag in all of the wizarding world.

Had his view on blood changed at all? Not really. He behaved because you had to in this new world where blood didn't matter in the least, but in the end his beliefs hadn't changed in the least. Perhaps it should have. After watching the way things unfolded. He had been frightened toward the end. Things weren't happening the way they were supposed to. When they had asked him to kill Dumbledore, Draco had thought he would be able to do it. But he had had a moment of weakness. He couldn't do it. It was the most shameful moment of his life.

Turning his gaze back on the Head, he waited for him to break the news to Granger. He was pretty long winded and it was grating on Draco's last nerve.

″Yes, you are getting promoted. To head assistant to the Head.″ Why was this man beating around the bush? Just fucking tell her Draco was her supervisor already!

Hermione felt her breath being held deep in her lungs. This was it. She was finally being made Head of the department. Her nerves tingled with excitement, her eyes flickered with anticipation, her mind whirled with ideas she would implement. And then when he said the next few words, Hermione saw it all crashing down around her. She couldn't exhale, her eyes remained stayed on her boss (former boss?). She realized she needed to take a breath, and so she slowly exhaled before tilting her head in a somewhat confused way. A slight smile tried to make its way across her face, but failed half way through; ″I'm sorry...could you repeat that?″

″Yes. I said that Mr. Malfoy here is the new Head and you will be his top assistant!″

″That's what I thought you said,″ she replied a bit quietly, finally looking sidelong at Malfoy with a look of disbelief riddled across her face. Of course, he looked positively smug and it made Hermione's stomach knot. She was too much in shock to feel anything else, although she would have felt disgust and anger if she hadn't been so stunned.

Turning her attention back on her current supervisor, Hermione managed to keep her composure; ″When does this take place?″

″Oh, in a week or so. I need some time to get my affairs in order and see to it that Mr. Malfoy gets trained properly. You, of course, do not need training since you've been working here for quite awhile. I'm under the impression you two have known each other since school?″ He looked between them. Hermione opened her mouth to correct him, but Malfoy sat forward – a sly smile on his face.

″Yes, we were very close.″

What a filthy liar! Hermione set her jaw and nodded in mere agreement, not wanting to make a wrong impression.

″Fantastic! Well, Ms. Granger, will you please show Mr. Malfoy around the department? It'll be beneficial that he knows his way around here.″

″Y-yes, of course. Th-thank you for this wonderful...opportunity.″ She managed another slight smile and stood to leave the office. She needed to get out of there, her head was swimming and she felt nausea. But at least her head wasn't hurting her.

Draco was intensely amused and satisfied at Granger's response. It made him feel better about himself. Not that he needed to feel any better about himself. Thanking the current Head and shaking his hand, Draco followed Granger out of the office. She was taking off like a rocket and it was all he could do to keep up with her and not seem eager. He was a few steps behind her when he rounded a corner and she turned viciously to confront him.

″Who do you think you are?″ She hissed, her fists clenched into tight balls.

″Excuse me?″

″I have been up for that promotion for two years. Two years, Malfoy! And you swoop in and take it from me like...like...you just can!″

″I'm sorry?″

She blinked at his apology, even if it was a question, and shook her head; ″It's done,″ she snapped, ″But let's make one thing clear right here and now, I am in no way your personal slave. I will not fetch you coffee, I will not receive your dry cleaning, I will not be your maid...″

He opened his mouth to make a comment about some French maid outfit but she cut him off, ″and I will NOT, I repeat, NOT please you...in...in any way sexually or...or personally for that matter. Do you understand or do I need to dumb it down for you?″

Draco folded his arms across his chest, smirking down at her in a condescending way, ″I wasn't aware you thought about pleasing me sexually, Granger.″

″I.. I don't. I just.. oh, shut up! Let's get this bloody tour over with so I can go and do my work before I have to descend into the seventh circle of Hell.″ And with that, she turned on her heel and stalked off. Draco smirked even more and followed her, listening to her prattle off quickly the different areas, offices, cubicles, and employees of the department.

This was going to be an amusing job.


	2. Factory Girl

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, the setting, or anything to do with Harry Potter. I am only using the wonderful world and characters she created in order to hopelessly write something that should have happened but never did.

A/N: This chapter is somewhat shorter, but that's because it's more of a plot mover. Thanks for reading!

**Factory Girl**

_Wait a minute girl_

_Can you show me to the party?_

A month into this new job and Hermione was ready to pull her hair out. So, maybe it wasn't much of a surprise that she was at home nursing a glass of red wine. She was watching an old black and white film on television, her head propped in one hand with the wine glass in her other. She brought it to her lips every few seconds and sipped. Already she felt her head spinning. Hermione wasn't much for alcohol and so when she decided she needed a drink, it didn't take much for her to get a bit tipsy.

She watched the screen of the television, listening to the dialogue of a movie she had memorized long ago. It was one of her favorite movies, it had been since she was young. She was enjoying the peace and quiet of her night. She usually would be working into the wee hours of the night and then sleep for three or four hours before having to get up for work, but Malfoy had been working her to the bone lately she decided to take the night off.

Working with him was proving to be as bad, if not worse, than she had imagined it would be. He was smug, arrogant, and stubborn. He hardly listened to her ideas, although they were good ones, and he regarded her as merely an assistant. Hermione understood that they weren't on the same level of employment, but he could at least entertain her ideas or pretend to take interest in them.

Hermione felt her shoulders tense as she thought about her supervisor. Taking a deep breath she brought her wine glass to her lips again when her Floo fireplace lit up with green flames and out stepped Malfoy. She choked on her wine and tried not to spit it out onto her white carpet; ″What the hell are you doing here?″ She asked once she gained control of herself again.

″I had a question,″ he answered, brushing the soot off his perfectly tailored black suit. His hair was swept to the side a bit, but it was slightly unruly from the rushing of Flooing. Hermione set her wine glass down and leaned to reach the remote, pausing her movie.

″So you show up at...″ she glanced at her clock, ″two in the morning to ask me this question as opposed to waiting five hours to ask me at the office?″

″It couldn't wait.″

″I see. Well, let's have it. What is this direly important question you had to ask so much so that you had to barge into my flat, quite unwelcome?″

″Might I sit?″ He asked, sinking into her armchair without waiting for an answer. Hermione's jaw shifted and she sat back in her seat on the couch, watching him expectantly. She didn't know what it was about him, but the way he just seemed to make himself so comfortable in her personal space made Hermione want to strangle him. She was usually so level headed, so logical and easily the one who saw things in the ″right″ sense. But when it came to Malfoy, all she did was see red. She eyed him, looking at him sitting so leisurely in her overstuffed red armchair, his arms draped over the arm rests, his legs relaxed. He was slouching a bit and he looked somewhat worn out. Hermione might have felt some sympathy for anyone else, but this was Malfoy – sympathy did not belong in the same universe, let alone sentence as him.

″What _are_ you watching, Granger?″ His eyes were locked on the television which was paused on a frame of the lead male and lead female characters about to kiss in that famous 1940s way. Hermione blinked and looked over at her screen.

″Oh, um, it's just a Muggle movie. I hardly believe that's the question you came to ask me, Malfoy.″ She tried to keep the impatient tone from her voice, but she couldn't help it. He got under her skin so well. He didn't appear as if he were going to be asking her any time soon as he scrutinized the Muggle movie in front of him. He tilted his head to the side, and he looked like a mixture between genuinely confused and disgusted.

″Muggles actually watch this drivel?″

″It's not drivel! It's romantic!″ Hermione snapped before she could stop herself, he turned and looked at her – arching his eyebrow. She closed her jaw sharply and pointed the remote at the television, ″They are madly in love, but he has to go to war. She's begging him not to go, to just run away and hide with her, but he feels this...need to go and fight for his country.″

″...drivel.″

″Oh, shut up, Malfoy! What did you want anyway, other than insulting my films?″

He smirked, knowing he had gotten to her. Draco had gotten to her a lot in the past month. In school, he had known which buttons to push. Call her Mudblood, make fun of her know-it-all status, make fun of her friends. She was quick to draw her wand on him, but not so quick to fire a curse. She had punched him once, and while that been surprisingly refreshing, she hadn't done anything so rash since. Sometimes he had hated how much of a logical human being she was. It was infuriating to watch her bottle in her anger when all he wanted was the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten under her skin enough to illicit a strong reaction to what he had done.

Even as he made fun of her Muggle movie, Draco wondered if she were any more annoyed than how she looked. He figured that eventually he should get to his question, but he wasn't quite done frustrating her. It was amusing to think he could do it in the safety of her home; this place where nothing could reach her.

Draco stretched his arms above his head and flicked his eyes pointedly at her glass of wine, ″Not going to offer me one?″ He feigned offense and gave her a look that would have made any other girl melt; but not Granger. Granger just gave him a steely glare before getting up to pour him a glass. He hadn't expected her to oblige, but Draco was starting to learn that there were a lot of things Granger would do that he hadn't ever expected her to do.

She returned and hold the glass out to him, her fingertips holding it loosely as if she was half tempted to drop it in his lap. Draco smirked a thank you at her and took it, sipping from it leisurely before reclining back in his chair. Granger took her seat again and watched him expectantly. The first time she had watched him like that, Draco had wanted to smack the look right off her face. It was almost as bad as the one she wore when she was sticking her nose up in the air as high as possible.

He set his eyes on the television screen again, wanting to push her as far as he could before finally telling her what had made him come to her flat. He wasn't quite sure what _had_ made him come to her flat. He did have a question, but it wasn't urgent enough that it couldn't wait until the morning. Perhaps he was bored, he just wanted to stir up some annoyance and irritation in Granger to stir up his otherwise dull night. That was a good enough reason for him, but he doubted it would be for Granger.

She cleared her throat and eventually, Draco looked over at her lazily; ″Have you finished those treaties?″

She stared at him. Her mouth agape slightly in a disbelieving way. His satisfaction soared through the roof at that. Yes, he had sufficiently annoyed her. He watched the flicker of anger cross her brown eyes and before he knew it she was out of her seat and grabbing him roughly by the arm. His drink sloshed in the glass onto her white carpet, but she didn't seem to care as she dragged him over to the fireplace. Her grip on his arm was surprisingly strong for such a small and petite woman, but a part of him wasn't all that surprised of the ferocity in which she manhandled him into the Floo.

″That is not dire, nor important at all.″

″Gran-″

″The next time you decide to barge into my flat, have a better excuse to see me.″

″Don't fla-″

″I think it is time for you to go.″ She said sharply, her face lined with anger and irritation. And with that, she threw some Floo powder down into the fireplace and stated loudly, ″Malfoy Manor.″ And like that, Draco was whirling away in flames of green, the wine glass still firmly grasped in his hand.

The next morning at work, Hermione made damn certain those treaties were on his desk before Malfoy even stepped into the Ministry building. She was nowhere to be found when he arrived, and although that may have made her look like a coward hiding from someone who had obviously gotten her knickers in a twist the night before, she wasn't giving a shit about what he thought. She wasn't a coward. She was livid. She knew she was being somewhat petty. But the idea of him feeling as if he could just barge into her flat was enough to make her blood boil. She was his assistant at work, and at work only. Her home was her home and she was not okay with him thinking he had enough control to waltz into it.

A crystal clear wine glass was placed atop the parchment she was scrawling on with care. Hermione blinked and lifted her to see Malfoy leaning against the side of her desk, his arms folded over his chest, that fucking smug look on his face. Hermione took the wine glass and set it aside, returning to her work. ″At least you had the decency to clean it,″ she muttered just loud enough for him to hear.

″You're the one who pushed me out with it. I could have just kept it, but I figured the stick up your arse would make your OCD go haywire if you didn't have your complete set of wine glasses.″

″How thoughtful of you,″ her sarcasm was completely apparent, and she tried to keep her jaw from clenching.

″Yes, well,″ he drawled, ″I try. Last night was..″

″Horrid? Annoying? Completely uncalled for?″

″I was going to go with interesting and not entirely un-awful.″

She blinked and looked up at him, catching his grey eyes with her brown ones. She was confused. What did he think last night was other than him just pissing her off? They hadn't had decent conversation, that hadn't enjoyed idle chit chat while watching the movie. In fact, he had insulted the movie.

″Maybe I'll drop in again sometime.″

″I'll disconnect my Floo before I let that happen again, Malfoy.″

″Are you forgetting I can apparate?″

″Even you have decent manners,″ and with that she turned back to her work and completely ignored him.

Draco stayed a while longer, watching her work and ignore his presence. He didn't know why he stayed, but there was something about her that made him want to twist, turn, and manipulate her. She was so easily upset, so easily angered. It awoke something inside him that he hadn't felt since before the war.

And that was something Draco was going to hold onto for as long as he could; even explore it.


End file.
